THE RACCOON 



When winter begins, the coon retires 

 for a long and comfortable sleep, warmly 

 clothed in fur and fat. A great mid- 

 winter thaw awakens him, fooled out of 

 a part of his nap by the siren song of 

 the south wind, and he wanders forth in 

 quest of something. If food, he never 

 finds it, and as far as I have been able 

 to determine, does not even seek it. I 

 should imagine, reading the record of his 

 journey as he prints it in his course from 

 hollow tree or hollow ledge to other 

 hollow trees and hollow ledges, that he 

 had been awakened to a sense of lone- 

 liness and was seeking old friends in 

 familiar haunts, with whom to talk over 

 last year's cornfield raids and frogging 

 parties in past summer nights — per- 

 chance to plan future campaigns. Or is 

 it an inward fire and no outward warmth 

 that has thawed him into this sudden 

 activity ? Has he, like many of his big- 

 gers and betters, gone a-wooing in winter 

 nights ? 



At such times the thrifty hunter who 

 has an eye more to profit and prime pel- 

 try than to sport, goes forth armed only 

 with an axe. Taking the track of the 

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